A piece of wood
a fair ridges
now give me a whirl of
inch ash that is not
shows me what remains of the true
and I can not bear the tears when it is strong ...
circumscribes the earth with circles
I meet in small crystals
piercing and kinky
as the smoke that has shut down under the plant
is wood that is wrong is
flaming material is so weak and his face battered
can not speak except to say silence
dies or dies for shouting!
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